


The lingering thoughts

by Auseil



Category: Warhammer - All Media Types, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:35:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25230241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auseil/pseuds/Auseil
Summary: Their minds wander where they dare not go, their thoughts linger in forbidden places. Would the temptation pull them together or bring them apart?
Relationships: Roboute Guilliman/Yvraine (WH40K)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55





	1. Guilliman reflects

He thinks about her often.

But he also reflects on his _need_ to think about her.

It’s not that he hasn’t thought deeply before about his allies, pondering on their strengths and faults, always ready to encourage the best traits in them and eager to help them overcome their shortcomings. A firm believer in order and meritocracy, Roboute Guilliman had always enjoyed the company of people with similar convictions and paths in life, men and women regarded as hard workers, serious and responsible, with clear goals for their lives. In a way, she´s like that and in another, she´s the complete opposite.

The Primarch knows, for the brief conversations they had shared, that Yvraine treaded many roads in her existence, some which he knows perfectly well he should find beyond redemption and yet … he doesn’t. _“Am I romanticizing her story?”_ he wondered. She had been an artist and a warrior, an adventurer, a fallen creature adopted by depraved hellions, a cornered beast in a despairing arena of horrors, and finally, a re-born demi-goddess with a power over life and death he would have never dreamt could exist. She was a prodigal daughter in a sense, that took all the pain and doubts in her life and was chosen as a vessel for something greater, not for her but her people. And at least he could comprehend the heavy burden upon her shoulders.

Unlike many of his brothers, Guilliman was brought up to be a politician and skilled tactician, exceeding from early on every expectation from his adoptive parents and tutors. He had experienced treason and devotion and knows perfectly well that necessity may create strange allies, but it is not a good reason enough to believe one is truly safe among them. But then the Primarch realized something, he´s not thinking about how deep runs the alliance of the Imperium with the Innari, no, he had just thought about her loyalty, towards him specifically. He is very willing to request her help, he knows also that sending her after powerful artifacts as he has done is a double-edged sword, but he´s not only willing to summon her to do his binding, he’s willing to let her keep them to aid hers and their respective causes. That is a decision he understands, should trouble him much more than what it does.

_“How can I expect loyalty from her, after what my brothers have done?”_ He thinks because even if he calls them “former brothers” in public, to put as much distance as he can from them, in the solitude of his soul, he knows their bound may be severed, but as a phantom limb, the good memories return from time to time, those were the very essence of his sadness. “Better not dwell that much on it”.

Within hours he will be seeing his father or at least what remained of him for the first time in eons. He hopes at least to be able to communicate with him in some sort of way, after all, if Constantin Valdor and Alicia Dominica managed to do so, he will find the answers that he seeks.


	2. Yvrain ponders

_“Roboute”._

She hasn´t realized until now, after another strenuous argument with the Visarch, the odd thing about the particular mannerisms she usually adopts in the presence of the ruler of Ultramar. The harsh words of her companion resonated deeply in her mind.

_“You act as if you were his pet! We cannot go running his errands around the galaxy! He is supposed to be the leader of the greatest legion in existence in all the damned wretch they dare to call an empire. Why doesn’t he send his troupes instead of risking ours?”_

She knew he didn’t appreciate how willing she was to cooperate with the Primarch, he had already vocalized it many times, but it was only now that the Visarch blows were hitting specific targets.

_“You use his name as if you´d know him. You only address him by his title when Eldrad and the others are in the same room serving as a link between the two of you.”_

It was true. When she thought about him, or sometimes talking to the Visarch, where no other ears could pick up their conversations, she would be called him by his given name. Once again she had defended her position, insisting that if you want allies, you need to fight for them.

 _“Will he return the favor?”_ The Visarch´s voice dripped sarcasm and mock.

 _“If he doesn’t I’ll make him feel the wrath of the Lord of the Dead.”_ Yvraine voice was as solemn and threatening as only the Herald of Ynnead could muster, and her icy words put the Visarch somewhat at ease.

 _“Promise me you will think about it. I don’t want to feel overly confident in his so-called honor.”_ He almost spat the words in the end, and Yvraine could not just anger, but also deep jealousy in him.

She wanted to scream at him that she didn´t need his concern over these matters, instead, she proceed cautiously to avoid forming a permanent fracture with her companion.

_“I will meditate on the matter, we must tread carefully, we do not have allies to spare. But rest assured that the will of our god guides above all, and what I do, I do for our people.”_

The Visarch knew very well that despite their collective arrogance about their long-dead past, the Aeldari were highly individualistic.

He still believed that the other-worldly power she commanded had her drunk on self-righteousness and was a dangerous fuel to her natural brashness. But he decided to hold his tongue for the moment.

But now, in the sanctity of her rooms, Yvraine was questioning herself. The word “pet” troubled her, on other occasions she had dismissed the remark, but the question of the Primarch’s given name made her realized something. In their conversations, she hadn’t always adopted the polite behaviors of a diplomatic leader speaking to a consequential allied. No, she had sound informal, like the very first she called him by his name, in the very presence of the Visarch nonetheless, her companion had been closed to draw his sword in what he interpreted as a threatening situation, but had been nothing more than friendly banter for her and Guilliman, that was the first time she addressed him simply as “Roubute”.

She wasn´t going to deny that she felt a deep connection towards him, something even bordering in possession if she was going, to be honest with herself. _“I brought him back, from the nether regions where there is no death nor life, I pushed him through the edge and the Whispering God lay him in my arms. We are allies, but he has a debt to me and he knows it._ ” She thought as she fanned herself, a superficial act, since her resurrection her temperature had been a steady low, cold skin and icy blood.

And then there was that encounter when she learned about his plans to acquired the Hand of Darkness. She had teased him about how primitive the High Gothic sounded to her during that meeting, and Eldrad himself had to chastise her to avoid an awkward moment. She had apologized of course in the manner of her people, always the _“if I have offended you ...”_ putting the emphasis in the conditional and the blame onto others. And what had the majestic regent of five hundred worlds do about? Nothing, he carried on with an air of calm and respect that made her look childish. And then he had left!

There was no denying, despite her mocks, she was basking in his presence, and even though in the beginning she could still detect the faint trace of death him, his regal presence was enough to fill the room in his glow. She was convinced he had to have some amount of psychic powers, there was no other explanation. And when he left she trembled with a pang of lost in her chest, Eldrad was kind enough to offer his hand to her, to avoid her the shame of losing her composure. She still didn’t know if he valued her as an allied or as a tool, if he respected her as High-Priestess of Ynnead or if he simply saw her as an instrument to his greater plan.

 _“And Roboute, what does he think of me? Is his debt to me a great thorn in his honorable soul?”_ If she kept interchanging formalities with teasing, sure enough, he would see her as a pet indeed, eager to seek a caress and eager to play with the hand that feeds her. Yet she wouldn’t hurt him, so entitled she believed she was to his attention and aid.

_“But, oh it would be sweet! Be able to sink her teeth on his hefty hands, and suck that radiance from his veins.”_

_The sound of laughter struck her out her reverie._

_“Oh, Daughter of the shades!”_

_“More like Daughter of Dances!”_

_“Come out, come out! We are going to practice some movements, honors us with your presence!”_

The harlequins that traveled with her were just outside the door, the merriest creatures she had ever seen in a world so full of sorrow, or maybe that too was an act? Nevermind, she needed to go away and put Roubute Guilliman out of her mind for a long while.

Pity those who, unbeknownst to them were going to help her sublimate her ardor.


	3. Preparations

Yvraine had been avoiding the inevitable encounter as long as she could, but there was no other solution, she had to meet him in person. She had even gone as far as asking Eldrad to deliver the Hand of Darkness to the Primarch and had focused instead on defending her people and make their numbers grow.

Even though she knew she still had much to learn about the use of her powers, she was gaining some more confidence. But, there is no use in trying to delay the encounter. She had to meet Guilliman in person to talk about new strategies and alliances. She still believed that Eldrad was merely accomodating her for convenience, and didn’t truly see her as a valuable ally to the cause of the Aeldari, she was more of a plan B going rogue that anything else to him, or so she thought.

And then there was the Visarch, always so on edge against the Primarch.

Mere days ago they had had another discussion about it.

_“I’ve begun making arrangements to meet with Guilliman.”_ She had said deliberately implying the decision was hers and hers alone.

_“Oh, so you need to check on the patient to see how he´s doing?”_ The mock in the otherwise serious Visarch was palpable.

Yvraine ignored the barb and moved on. _“There are things that are better said in person.”_

_“Really? What is wrong with the way we have been using? Do you miss to lick your master´s hand?”_

A cloud of contained fury exploded paralyzing. The sheer power of it strangling him to the core.

_“I am the Herald of Ynnead. His High-Priestess. I am the leader of His people. No man, human nor Aeldari commands, me because my power is divine and my will is the will of a God. You will cease the fire of your jealousy and mockery, I have not the time nor the need for it. I am not your child for you to scold me, I do not have anything to prove to you.”_ Yvraine’s voice was gone, instead, the Visarch feel as if somebody was talking in and outside his head. A sound that could not have been called a voice had taken words and was cold as the empty void, quiet as a moonless night and at the same time terrifying as a dying star.

There was no violence this time, as it had been when they were looking for the gift of Isha and their distrust and insecurities were play on them by demons. No weapons were drawn, no threats, there was no need for them.

He had to admit he was jealous, he was the one that had followed Yvraine, who had taught her and accompanied her even before she had become the Herald. He had donned a mask to protect her without interfering in her path, he had offered and given her his loyalty, not in favor of the cause of the Aeldari, but because of his feelings for her. And to see her working for the mon’keigh was like an insult to him, and a rotten seed of envy had begun rooting in his heart.

For people like Eldrad, working with humans was out of necessity, not a choice. You could see the Farseer all courteous and patient, quick to listen and to answer as a true diplomat should be, every time the subject of the Imperium came into the conversation he was always polite and kept a respectable distance between Guilliman and himself. Yvraine on the other hand was … like playful around him, as if she knew him as if she had the right to speak to him freely as if she had any right … to him.

But to think such thoughts was madness, she was the Daughter of Shades and Guilliman was, despite a better word, a creature of broad daylight. They both could share the universe but not the hours, like Sun and Moon inhabiting the skies in a dance without touch or graze, serving a greater purpose, each on in their side.

_“I apologize, any words are meaningless and I will prove my repentance with my actions, serving the God and you.”_ Finally, the Visarch spoke, falling to his knees humbled.

The icy air of the room slowly began to warm and Yvraine relaxed. And idea forming in her mind. _“I would need your help.”_ She said as if the insult had been long ago, without a trace of resentment.

Renowned and full of purpose the Visarch was ready to conduct the will of their God. In the end, her companion had agreed to her terms, even though with some unspoken reserves. They had both agreed to travel to a safe point, where they could meet in person with the Primarch, and after many deliberations between the two parties, it was decided that Yvraine, the Visarch, and a small entourage would travel to Macragge. Guilliman wanted them to see that his sons were willing to cooperate with the Ynnari, beyond the mists of war, always the statesman, the Lord Regent believed it would be good for the morale of the troupes.

_“Good for the morale of his men or good to silence the doubts of his generals?”_ mused the Visarch.

_“If we are going to work and fight with them, is better to be in good terms, I understand he wants to put people at ease, especially his second in command.”_ Added Yvraine.

“He doesn’t seem to appreciate us? Does he?” There was a tint of amusement in the Visarch’s voice.

_“He doesn’t have to like us, but Guilliman surely foresees we need to be civil to each other. If there is any dispute will settle it amicably, if there is any hostility it won’t come from us.”_ The Herald's voice sounded calm and complacent, but there was enough of the usual Aeldari arrogance in it to make her lieutenant smile behind his mask.

_“How is that old saying? Let’s kill them with our kindness?”  
_

_“Maybe it’s too hostile”_ , conceded Yvraine suppressing her laugh. _“Let’s show them the grace and valuable, only our people can bring to the table, we’ll be the perfect guests, we will amaze them!”._

Little she knew, what awaited in Macragge, but in the most hidden part of her mind, a feeling was forming, a pale image of the wonder she was about to discover.


	4. The meeting

Yvraine was doing her best to avoid fidgeting in her seat. This was not something she was expecting, and she was doing everything in 

Yvraine was doing her best to avoid fidgeting in her seat. This was not something she was expecting, and she was doing everything in her power to stare too intensely at the Primarch that was sitting right in front of her.

The High-Priestess and her entourage had arrived an hour ago at the Fortress of Hera and had been directly escorted into a war-room, she expected more secrecy from the Ultramarines, and yet her and her people had been treated as they truly were, high dignitaries worthy of all respect, maybe too much respect. The Astartes had kept the civilities and good manners in a way that seemed fake to her, they were a bit too solemn and a tad too serious, as though if they were overreacting it for the sake of showing that they were the better part here.

One of her Harlequins had whispered at her ear while they passed the long and magnificent corridors _“Daddy’s little boys are putting on their best face to today”_. Yvraine hushed her companion, but she shared the sentiment, she could very well imagine Guilliman ordering his people to be as considerate and respectful towards her and her companions. They weren’t been nice and polite out of respect for her, but for him, the Resurrected Primarch.

_“But I brought him back, don’t they know of it? Of course not, that would be too much to ask, they must keep their secrets to avoid tarnishing his most holy image. It doesn’t matter, he owes me allegiance, and all of you will come after his trail when the moment demands it, I’ll make sure of it”_ , though the Herald.

When they had finally arrived at the place where their meeting would be taking place, she had to make an effort to gap. The room was immense, with light cascading through enormous windows, the place was decorated with the colors of Ultramar, white, gold, and the ever-present blue, rich tapestries hung from the walls and in the mid a long and beautifully crafted table with magnificent chairs. On the other side of the room, the Victrix Guard was guarding an ornated entrance.

Yvraine could see the hardly veiled contempt in the face of Marneus Calgar, the Chapter Master of the order, and the only one that wasn’t wearing his helmet, but there was no trace of Guilliman.

_“The Lord Regent will be here shortly, please have a seat”,_ when Calgar spoke, he did it with great formality.

It was plain obvious for Yvraine and the rest that the diplomatic games had started, and they were not very pleased. To make them wait for the Primarch put him in a superior position, as if they were his retainers, and if she wasn’t his equal. She had noted the plain discomfort in the others, but she would answer solemnity with coldness.

When Yvraine was about to say that they would wait until his arrival, the door opened to reveal Roboute Guilliman himself accompanied by an Astartes that Yvraine knew was named Cato Sicarious and some other that she could not place.

They were astonished looks from almost everyone in the room, except for Yvraine, for what she felt could not simply be described as awe.

Guilliman wasn’t wearing the Armor of Fate, a glorious suit that was supposed to serve to keep the Lord of Ultramar alive. Belisarius Cawl had assured her that both of their efforts would bring him back, but that without his creation, her intervention would be good for nothing. The armor was meant to, not only protect Guilliman against damage and attacks but to sustain his recently regained life. He couldn’t live without it, he wasn’t supposed to live without it and yet here he was, standing in front of her, she couldn’t feel the touch of the grave in him, only the warmth of the sun, he was wearing plain blue robes and had golden laurels in his head that almost matched his blond hair.

It took her a moment to realize she should say something. It took her another moment to be aware that he had to say something too, but he remained silent.

Finally, he spoke, his strong baritone voice loaded with kindness and good-will. _“It is an honor to receive you, please have a seat, I hope your journey has been good and auspicious, as I am sure this meeting will be for all of us.”_

Yvraine bowed lightly and thanked him, she could feel the discomfort in the Visarch who had decided to remain silent during most of the trip and the distrust of the rest of her people.

She knew what they should be thinking _“He comes without his armor to show us he trusts us, and that in turn, we have nothing to fear from him. He’s either conceited because of his prowess or he thinks that it will sit well with us the lack of mistrust from his part.”_

And yet Yvraine knew Guilliman wasn’t being smug about his powers or strength.

_“He really is trying to show us we have nothing to fear from him, but for creatures like us, to recognize it would be akin to admitting our inferiority and collectively is not something we could even consider to do. Unless ...”._ And she didn’t want to admit that the Primarch knew how humble Yvraine was about forming alliances and working with other creatures, that she was quite the critic of her own. _“Is he doing this display, for me?”_ she wondered.

_ “No, it can’t be. I understand he had not donned his armor to avoid looking like a warrior in a diplomatic engagement, that’s it. What I do not understand is how had he done it.” _

The conference lasted hours, there was much debate and some points in common, but in the end, the two parties agreed, even though begrudgingly in some terms, in their mutual fight against chaos and other enemies.

The Herald could tell that the Visarch and the rest were, if not completely comfortable, satisfied with the agreements, and if she was reading them well, the same could be said for the other part.

But none of it could placate her hunger to know what had happened to the Primarch. She longed to canvass him, she wanted to see with her eyes what he was hiding, in a primal way she wanted to smell him, to taste him. _“Would I find the taste of the graveyard dirt in him? If I get a little closer would he smell like spring or winter?”._

On the other hand, the Primarch himself had not done a great job dissimulating his interest in her. Calgar had noticed how his sire’s mood had changed in the presence of the Aeldari. He looked somehow calmer and more … approachable? 

_“Must be a tactic”_ thought the Chapter Master, _“to make it look like that he’s worthy of their trust. Although I do not believe their trust to be much valuable, they will be at least be of some use to us, better to keep them occupy and away from Macragge as soon as possible.”_

Meanwhile, on the other side of the table, Yvraine’s mind was racing with excuses to question Guilliman about his lack of armor, and about that strange glow that seemed to emanate from him. She was certain that if she asked plainly she was going to get some vague answer.

_ “Emissary -Guilliman addressed to her directly – there are some other matters I wish to discuss with you. Yet. I' afraid I was advised by our mutual acquaintance, to only share this knowledge with you. I hope it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience for you to accompany me? I assure you it wouldn’t take long and I have already instructed Captain Sicarius to accompany your people while we are attending our meeting. I assure you, you all will be treated accordingly to your status. That is of course if you’d permit it my lady Yvraine.” _

Th ere was something in the way Guilliman had said her name, that sends a ripple of warmth through her chest.

Elegantly, the High Priestess rose from her seat and with only a look instructed her entourage.

“If you be so kind, please Lord Guilliman.” And they exited the room, with no more company than themselves.


	5. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! First of all let me thank everyone that left kudos, I love them and comments too.  
> This is the first time I write about this pair, but I really like them and I have two more stories to tell about them. Sadly I don't have much time, but I will try my best to upload them as soon as I have more chapters.   
> And another thing, I'm not really good at writing smut but I wanted to give it a try, please, let me know you like it.

Guilliman had to refrain himself from offering his arm to Yvraine when he asked her to accompany him. It has been an instinctive reaction, instead, they had simply walk silently together through long corridors, they had not met anyone, and she wondered if that too had been planned.

In the end, they reach what it looks like to be a studio of some sort, the place was furnished in an austere way, and it didn’t take much to the High Priestess to know where she was.

_ “Is this, your personal office?” _

_“Well yes, it’s not much, as you can see. But I don’t require luxuries to have my work done. This is actually a place where I come when I need to concentrate more on my work than anything. Please, have a seat._ ”

Besides the two chairs, many cabinets and the desk, there was a large divan. Yvraine settled on the later, and adopted a position she thought look regal and reminded her of her days in Commorragh, in the company of lady Malys. It was only when she noted that Guilliman was staring at her with an odd look, that she realized she must have looked more like a courtesan than a diplomat. He towered over her and yet she felt a strange sensation as if she were the one holding the power and he was just waiting for her to tell him what to do.

_ “You must wonder why I’ don’t have my armor on me, don’t you?” _

_ “I take you have improved your condition, my lord.” _

Guilliman had to double-take the situation. Yvraine had reclined her body over the divan, one of her elbows propping her head, and her long legs were almost extended, her knees slightly bent in a position that made it look as if her body was pointing itself towards her chest and face, exposing her like a well-displayed jewel.

_“Theoretical: I’ve succeeded in making her feel comfortable, and so she assumes such a … relaxed position. Practical: she could still spring as her grynx towards me in an assault if she thought so necessary.”_ Thought the Lord of Ultramar.

_ “I cannot tell you much about it, but I can say that I have no need to use the Armor of Fate to keep me alive. But I wanted to clarify that in no way this means that I think my debt to you have been pay, quite the contrary, I know very well, that if it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be able to guide my people and I will always be grateful for it.” _

_ “There is something. Do you allow me to be frank, my lord?” _

_“Please!”_ said Guilliman, almost too eagerly.

_“When we spoke through the intervention of the Farseers, I could sense something in you, even if our communication was remote, I felt …”_ Yvraine faltered _“I felt the touch of the grave in you my lord, the link between the dead and the living still too fresh and much closer to the other side, than to the material realm.”_

_ Guilliman nodded. _

_ “But now, I can feel none of that. It’s like comparing a cemetery to a garden, ashes to a smoldering fire. My Lord, forgive me for my audacity, but I am the Herald of the Whispering God, I must know of these things and as much as I’ve been thinking I cannot explain what happened to you. Please, if you can’t tell me what did you do or what had been done to you, at least let me examine you to see the extent of your recuperation! _

_“Examine me?”_ the Primarch gulped almost imperceptibly.

_ “Yes! I will tell you if I can detect the touch of Death in you and nothing more. I promise you I won’t interrogate you about the methods you used to accomplish such feat, just let me see with my own eyes the extent of it.” _

_“Very well”_ Guilliman conceded, _“What is that you need for your examination?”_

_“Well, access to you of course.”_ The reply came quickly and naturally. More so than she would have liked it.

_ “I understand. Please follow me.” _

There was a hidden door in one of the walls, behind a cabinet. It took them to a spacious room, made almost entirely of white and grey marble.

Yvraine had heard that in Macragge, public bathrooms have been a staple of society for centuries, both for men and women. People went there not just to cleanse themselves, but to meet with friends, conduct business or political affairs, and the most affluent families built their own opulent facilities to regale their members and guests. Probably Guilliman had another one in the fortress, but it spoke volumes of the Lord Regent that he had taken measures to have another one built just for the need of extra privacy.

For any mortal creature, the place surely would look sumptuous and out of proportion, but for the Primarch, it verged in the brink of modesty.

There was another thing going on and Yvraine couldn’t tell what it was, a sensation tingling in the tips of her fingers. She was so focused on it that barely took notice that the Imperial Regent had asked her a question about his examination and she had vaguely nodded while she tried to understand what was going on.

_“Will this suffice?”_ came Guilliman's voice, almost shy.

Yvraine turned around and inhaled, the only thing she could do. Guilliman was standing bare-footed in front of her, covered only by a cloth. His statuesque physique was unique, Yvraine had always thought that the Astartes, the sons of the Primarchs looked more brutish than anything else, something not quite right about their proportions, unlike the Aeldari with their long limbs and slender frames. But the man in front of her didn’t look like any of them, he was imposingly tall even for her, his muscles were rippled as the mountains of Macrage but there was in his posture a certain grace that remained Yvraine of days long past. _“Has he ever dance? Would he ever do so with me?”_

She couldn’t help but smile when she saw a boyish expression in his masculine face. A genuine and tender smile, that served to surprise and reassure Guilliman at the same time.

Unhurriedly, the Aeldari placed her hands on Guilliman’s forearms and felt something warm washing her body and mind. There was some external power behind all of this, but there was also something else, that was the quintessence of everything the Primarch truly was. Will, a shinning, unadulterated, and commanding will.

_“He never doubts?”_ she thought truly curious, and reluctantly went to stand behind his back. His martial posture had relaxed a bit after her initial touch.

_ “Ah … yes, I can feel it, radiating from you, it seems like … a sort of renewal.” _

_“What has he done? Who has done this?”_ She thought almost in a panic, unable to move away from him, it was like touching a field devastated by Winter, blooming radiantly again. There were no words in her language or in High Gothic that could describe it because there was no word to express what a seed feels when it brokes to become a stem, what a stem senses when turns into a tree or what the tree takes from the earth, the sun, and the rain. Throwing all caution to the wind she dared to tilt her head against his back, her nose almost nuzzling the strong muscles beneath his skin. It was the smell of life and fertility, it was intoxicating and was making her feel things she had thought long dormant, and others she had never experienced before.

_ “Tell me if you be so kind, what was your idea? Why did you tempt fate like this?”  _ There wasn't just curiosity in Yvraine's tone, there was also concern.  


Guilliman could tell she had realized what he had done, not only had he been healed in part by being in the presence of his Father, he had been instrumental in his recovery, willing his body to go where he wanted it to be, not an inch less.

_ “You will surely laugh, but the truth is, I wanted to take a bath.” _

His answer sounded so sincere and candid, that Yvraine couldn’t help herself, and mirth flowed through her.

_ “You … you people … I can’t believe you are so attach to your costumes and your mundane habits! Even to be foolish enough to challenge Dead!” _

_ “Maybe it’s one of our best traits my lady Yvraine. That we know our pleasures are simple and our disposition is strong. There is no need for intricate merriment nor forbidden raptures if you know deep in the central solitude of your soul how the little things shape us, only then can you muster greatness.” _

His voice was calm, but the dart hit her right in the spot. His words could perfectly well describe her or the kind. And yet they used to tell her that the humans were nothing but beasts. Well, she had to admit that for a while she hasn´t been able to agree with them.

_“I apologized, it wasn´t my intention to offend you, please, do not doubt my gratitude towards you. Do not doubt my respect. You are the epitome of all the things that are great and mighty of your Imperium if your species could produce more men and women like you, not even in the body, but in mind and heart, maybe the universe wouldn’t be such grim and somber place.”_ She said laying down her hands on his back.

_ “There is no need. I’d let you tease me or even insult me more if I knew for sure it would mean to hear more of your praise. I value you profoundly Yvraine.” _

She didn’t need to be a psykeer to know that his words were heartfelt and were dealt without any doubt, but they struck her deeply. Being so used to the baroque courtesies of the Craftworlds and the deceitful manners of the Drukhari, Guilliman´s sincerity left her a strange but not unsavory

taste.

They stood there for a moment, with the silence lingering above them, the Primarch waiting for an answer and Yvraine lost in the sensation of her palms pressed against his back and her mind arched in contemplation. There was no duplicity in his intentions, no double meanings, not an ounce of mockery, there was even … respect … and admiration? It was at that moment when she realized that he has known all along that she was probing his mind, and instead of arguing or screaming at her insolence he had laid bare what he thought about her, just for her to see it. The Visarch would have called it a brutish and tactless act, only another proof of the mon´keighs foul manners. Yet Ivraine sensed it as an act of intimacy, and with burning cheeks immediately drew her hands further down his back.

At that point she registered what was the bizarre feeling in her hands, they were warm, even before touching him, as if she had been taking in his radiance. _“Like the moon and the sun,”_ she thought. _  
_

_“Yvraine?”_ he asked and she could sense a touch of concern in his otherwise composed voice.

_ “Yes, lord Guilliman?”. _

_ “Roboute.” _

She paused again this time her hands were at his waist and she made no motion to move them while answering.

_ “You not mind me calling you by your given name?” _

__

_ “You used to do it. Has something changed?” _

She could lie and tell him she didn´t know back then that calling him like that was a too informal act for her to perform, and argue that she wasn´t used to the ways of his people. But he would see through her lies and she took a bold decision.

_ “When we took you back from the clutches of your slumber … I mean when I performed my intervention through the powers of the Whispering God, I felt a connection to you, I felt like I had acquired a ...I don’t know how to express it in High Gothic, but I guess I can say I felt like I knew you and that somehow it gave me the license to use your name like that. I realized now that for our diplomatics negotiations to be successful I need to be more careful and not take anything for granted.” _

She paused for a moment and added _“For all the times I have implied anything derogatory or out of place in a conversation between allies I would like to apologize. I will say it again, you deserve my utmost respect.”_

In another time and place, Guilliman would have thought impossible to hear such words coming from and Eldar. In any case, he would have attributed them to an attempt to manipulate him, but despite the odd place and positions they were occupying, he knew without needing to see her face that she was telling the truth.

But before the sovereign of Ultramar could form an answer, Yvraine was quick to add:

_“As proof of my sincerity, I won´t entertain you much longer lord Guilliman.”_ If before Guilliman thought her hands were too warm for someone who was the Herald of the very personification of Death, now they were positively burning.

** Painstakingly, the Primarch turned around, he seemed taller and even more majestic than before, towering over her, while Yvraine, enthralled, hardly move at all, only to look, at his face, to really look at him. **

He was so alien to her at first, his strong square jawline, his round eyes, the monumental shoulders that seemed to be able to carry worlds upon them (and not just metaphorically speaking); he had all the attributes of the males of her species, yet her kind would have said he looked beastly and uncut. She knew different, but she couldn’ t compare him to her own or his people, Roboute Guilliman was a human and something else entirely.  _“Just like me”_ she surmised.

_“Yvraine”_ , he whispered and the sound reverberated in her ears and chest.

His father had somehow predicted this moment, he knew it would happen. 

_ “It´s not that you or your brothers can’t experience the same feelings that the rest of humanity can. As much as I wanted you to be perfect and devoid of the things that had plagued me, all of us our greed, our lust, our most basic ambitions, I saw the error of my ways long ago. Our flaws do not spawn vices, what we perceive to be our flawed nature is where we begin to cultivate our virtues. We must not negate our anger, but make sure to assign it a worthy target, we must not deny our greed, but try to conquer what we can and accept some things or achievements belong to others, and that doesn’t lessen in one bit our triumphs. And finally, son, you can have affection, you can show tenderness and express your caring nature, if somehow I managed to give you that capacity or if it´s something you develop by yourself, it doesn’t matter. It is there for a reason, go and find your reason.” _

But his thoughts didn’t linger much on his father, and respectfully slow he raised his hands to take Yvraine´s into his huge palms. 

There is a certain tint of anger in her eyes now and Guilliman is willing to retreat right away and make amends, but at the same time, she’s grasping his callous knuckles with her slender fingers, with a touch that’s almost ethereal.

_“How can they not see it? They should name him Emperor, he is it in everything, but the name”_ she thought. He’s a pinnacle of strength and intelligence, a mind so amazing in a matching body, they all should feel it, his electrifying charisma, the plain beauty, and practicality of his form, more precious and intriguing to her, than all the fineries she´s been used to, his serious face more radiant than the veiled smiles she has seen since birth. 

Little does she knows, her own God understands her predicament, for this had happened before and will happen again somewhere, somehow. The moment when Death is captivated by Life and reluctant to be the End of all Things. The tales of gods and demigods are bound to repeat themselves, and Ynnead let his Herald be, let the Spirit have the Body, and let the body be moved by the Spirit. 

As they pressed their lips without rush, he bends his head and she stands on her bare tiptoes, it´s not a kiss yet, but for Guilliman, always the strategist, the intimate act between the two of them serves as a recognition mission. He doesn’t have experience in this strange terrain, nor ever thought he should need, but he’s more than willing to learn.

_“Information is victory,”_ he thinks as Yvraine takes hold of his neck and pressed the length of her lovely form against his. He’s reading every single one of her movements, every caress is a clue and even her respiration shows him the path.

Guilliman learns, that Yvraine likes his jawline, and the feeling of his immensely strong arms behind her back relaxes her, but most importantly, he knows she is holding back.

_“I won’t break”_ he whispers in her ear as she leaves traces of kisses in his neck. 

_“Me neither”_ , and she presses harder. 

_“What should I do? What do you desire?”_ his eagerness surprises her but is the respect in his voice what does it for her. 

“What do you want to do?” she asks willing to accommodate his ways.

_ “I want to see you”. _

She pulls a little back and in mere seconds, her gown and suite are left behind. Even her headpiece is discarded in the process, her long white hair flowing like a milky cascade behind her.  She is tall even by Aeldari standards, but not nearly as tall as Guilliman, and her  voluptuousness is not very common in warriors, but Guilliman appreciates it nonetheless. He can tell by her movements that she wishes him to do so, and when she moves next towards him, she senses his questions without even trying to read his mind.

They both know that theoretically, they should be compatible, and she takes the lead. Guilliman knows perfectly well when to pay attention and follow, so he watches as she worships his torso with mouth and hands as his only article of clothing falls to the ground.

She wants to reassure him that her past as Drukhari is very well gone and that she won’t do anything to make him feel discomfort.

Yvraine awaits for permission, and with an encouraging nod from Guilliman’s part, begins her exploration, there are things she wishes she could say _“a fine and mighty blade my Lord, like none I have ever seen”_ is the first that comes to mind, but she decides against it. She’s going to wield it anyway, so there is no reason to get to chatty about it.

Guilliman´s mind is racing, the sensations are almost too much, but his body responds avidly, and he comes to the realization that is not that he was, or ever have been beyond the reach of the carnal pleasures, he simply had never before found himself in the presence of something that entices him.

But his train of thoughts is disrupted soon enough. As Consul first and then as Lord Commander of the Imperium, he had seen uncountable people kneel in his presence. Some with true reverence, others with envy or suffering the heavy burden of humiliation, but never in this particular way.

Yvraine kneels with her legs wide open, reaching softly to his hips and Guilliman is about to tell her she doesn’t have to put herself in an embarrassing position when she puts her mouth on him.

_“Is this not to your liking?”_ She asks looking directly into his startled eyes, her voice sounding husky and casual at the same time.

He stutters “I … is it to yours?” he sounds doubtful. 

_“Very”._ And she shows him. She notes he is holding himself, so she doesn´t and when Guilliman can’t take it anymore, he tries diplomacy.

_ “Please, I wouldn’t ...” _

She wants to say something crude but stops herself. In a while, he may regret this whole encounter, and Yvraine decides she wants to have as much as she can get, without him noticing right away how much she had hungered for this. She guides him to her, more than ready, that at least is obvious, soon they are on the floor. He wants her on top, she wants his face in her chest, they get a marvelous agreement and after a fleeting moment of discomfort, she accommodates him greedily.

Guilliman takes count of every single pulsating movement Yvraine made, saving every morsel of information for later because he will not lie to himself, if she chooses so, there will be another time, he’ ll make sure of it. He notices how her nimble fingers search for the place of their union, and what they do there. He is no fool and knows enough of anatomy and life, in general, to know what she is doing, but is the art of it what he’s trying to grasp and she looks at him with curiosity and want.  


_“It’s not different from a stylus_ – he tells her as he reaches for the scepter of her pleasure – _you have to be delicate and gentle, apply the right pressure to make the ink flow … ah yes like that.”_

He feels like a page in which she writes, her brushes sometimes brusque, sometimes gentle, they are savoring the moment, there is no rush and after a long time of exploration, they lay side by side.

Guilliman kisses her shoulders as she is about to fall asleep.

None of them feels the need to say anything more, they will do this again, and again, there is no regret or remorse, outside the fortress, the remaining rays of sunshine touch the first moonbeams, and paint the clouds crimson and the sky golden amongst the mountains.


End file.
